


the pit

by brunchclub



Series: snippets of the world [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Forced to fight, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Physical hurt/comfort, Technoblade & Wilbur Soot Twins, dadza gratuitous dadza, fantasy racism against hybrids, it’s not really graphic but it’s not vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunchclub/pseuds/brunchclub
Summary: sleepy bois family finds themselves in trouble when one of their members is forced to fight in a ring to keep the rest of them alive.—“id love to see some techno angst always if you're willing. maybe he gets hurt protecting the gang or something. also phil and techno angst mayhaps?” - AGCninja“sleepy bois are kidnapped by people wanting techno to fight for them. If he doesn't obey what they want the others are hurt.” - A Name
Relationships: All familial relationships -, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, don’t ship em fuckos
Series: snippets of the world [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049372
Comments: 21
Kudos: 684





	the pit

**Author's Note:**

> “id love to see some techno angst always if you're willing. maybe he gets hurt protecting the gang or something. also phil and techno angst mayhaps?” - AGCninja  
> “sleepy bois are kidnapped by people wanting techno to fight for them. If he doesn't obey what they want the others are hurt.” - A Name
> 
> from my request book! this oneshot is,, long,, but I had Ideas. hopefully the requesters enjoy this!

The city bustled. Even in the later fall, when activity petered out slightly due to the insistent chill, the port hummed with life. Tarp and cloth kept spices from blowing away on the wind that whistled through the tall buildings surrounding the square, merchants and traders lining the streets. At some point the place where the streets of the city met had become less of a plaza and more a bazaar. It was beautiful, in a noisy way; something Techno’s brothers often appreciated more than the rosette himself. 

Said brothers weaved through the crowd in front of him, the three of them winding their way between bartering humans and villagers in order to find the stalls they searched for. Wilbur and Tommy took the initiative on finding the shack stores; as the tallest, and most invested, they stood out somewhat among the crowd, talking over the cacophony of sound. Both of them were loud enough to, but the occasional high-pitched laugh and banter back still made it to the hybrid’s ears, Tubbo beside Tommy but just short enough to be hidden by the larger members of the masses. Techno himself walked behind them, cloak pulled up to cover himself. It wasn’t out of place in the harbor, air nipping at the face of patrons and sellers alike. He didn’t squeeze through the gaps of the crowd, instead choosing to walk a straight line behind his family, in step with his father. 

Phil was talking with his hands, as he was apt to do, gesturing and smiling brightly as he chuckled about something or other Techno had contributed to the conversation. Together they cleared a path a few steps behind his twin and the younger two, no one willing to complain about the minor disturbances made by their passing when they had been shoved so much more harshly by rushing nobles and peasants alike.

At some point the younger blonde had come to them shouting about finding whatever Phil needed, uncaring of how he jostled some of the crowd on his short jog back. Some good-natured warning about disturbing the peace and a friendly ruffle of his hair was all that Phil was able to deliver before Tubbo called Tommy’s name and the blonde was off again. Phil shot a knowing, fondly exasperated grin the rosette’s way, putting his hands up in a ‘what can you do’ sort of gesture. 

His father left him with the simple instructions to get what he needed or wanted, and not to do anything he himself wouldn’t do. Unfortunately for him, Techno knew exactly what the blonde had done before to sate his urges for adrenaline, so it didn’t narrow the field much. Still, Techno sent him a tired smirk, before the blonde was off to follow his three wayward children. The hybrid watched him go, quickly catching up with his other sons, though he didn’t break pace beyond a swift, elegant stride. 

Techno huffed an amused breath as he saw his father assimilate with them, though he turned to search for the necessary stalls to complete his own goals. He spied the pop-up armory from over the crowd, on the opposite side of the market.

Something in the pit of his stomach turned like a rock flipped over, but he ignored the nagging feeling. He hadn’t slept well the previous night; nor the nights before. Too much work to be done; farming, training, whatever caught his attention, something he obsessed over until it’s end. He chalked it up to that; free time in the face of endless work, something Phil had been scolding him over for days on end.

The craftsman was friendly enough, which alleviated some of his previous anxiety; still, the way he kept trying to peek under Techno’s hood had him shifting and grunting in a way he knew could be construed no other way than irritation. Eventually the blacksmith gave up, though the hybrid still kept a shaded eye on him.

He had come for more materials than anything; he trusted his sword in no one’s hands but his own, and occasionally family. A compromised sword was a compromised safety; he took care of it himself. Armor, on the other hand, he was fine leaving in the care of professionals. His was less important than others; swiftness and a desire to offend rather than defend left him usually leaping out of the way of an incoming sword. For that reason his armor was light, and non-constraining.

The prices were fair at the stall, however, and after a particularly hard grind, Techno wasn’t particularly concerned about his wealth. The pieces of armor he’d brought had been lying damaged in his bag; within a moment they’d been brought out and given to the smith, waiting for repair.

He had no other errands to run; a quick stop by the stationary stall had him slipping a jar of ink and a journal into his bag. One for Wilbur as well, since he’d been preoccupied dealing with the youngest. His own was bound in dark leather; his twin’s in brighter yellow. Phil had only given him double thumbs up when he’d seen the purchase, so Techno felt justified in it. Having nothing else to do, the hybrid stood against the wall of a building, stifling a yawn that threatened to force open his jaw. Hooded eyes swept the market, looking for a particularly familiar group. 

At some point, his gaze snagged on a curly brown mess of a hairstyle, surrounded by two bouncing bundles of energy. He grinned slightly. By the look passerby were giving him; he assumed it might have been a bit unsettling. He watched as his twin struggled to remove the younger teens who were deliberately trying to annoy him, poking at his beanie and generally being nuisances. One of them successfully distracted him while he saw a vague hand-like shape snatch it off his head, blonde quickly smothered by the maroon colour and shape of his signature hat. 

Techno was confused as to why that made his stomach ache. 

Blood drummed against his ears as the crowd quieted slightly. It was still loud where he was, the side of the square unconcerned about the lack of commotion opposite of them. Still, the noise and movement stopped momentarily over a shout Techno barely made out.

He was starting to remember why they didn’t come to the city often.

As gorgeous and vital as it was to their continued survival and comfort, the city was dangerous. Full of bigots, and two races; humans, and villagers. Any others were quickly dismissed, prices raised in their faces in the best case scenario, and in the worst case scenario, well, Techno preferred not to think about it.

It crossed his mind when his twin’s pointed ears were exposed to the port’s view.

His feet were moving while his mind was still stuck on the image.

Phil had been haggling while it had gone on, Techno realized, but before he’d even crossed the halfway point, a small waterway crossing the middle of the square, his father had crossed the gap between him and his sons, standing in front of the three passively.

Or at least, seemingly.

To Techno’s keen eyes, he could tell the signs of his father gearing up for a fight. His hands flexed slightly where they were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were narrowed just slightly. He met them briefly when Phil looked around the crowd, noting their reactions. His plan. His cloak shifted even though the wind had calmed; moving in an organic manner. 

“Is there a problem?” Phil asked, plastering a smile on his lips. His son could tell the falseness of it based on how the corner of his mouth twitched; it didn’t reach his analytic eyes.

“He’s a fuck’n’ hybrid.” One mouthbreather accused. He stepped to the front of the crowd, although they kept a ring of a few feet around the four; Tubbo and Tommy had crept closer to the elder two; standing behind Wilbur and facing the crowd on the opposite side. “I don’t f’kn’ like mobbloods in my gods’damn’d city.” 

Phil’s face twisted minutely. Techno stood on the outside perimeter of the small ring that had formed. The city felt too busy for what was going on; cheer was still spreading around the rest of it, barely a fraction of the people glaring at them. 

“Then we’ll go.” Phil replied evenly. His tone was stony; Techno knew that although he felt it,  _ knew _ it to be unfair, he would gladly leave without confrontation if at all possible. His sons could defend themselves; he’d taught them, after all, and he’d survived possibly the most deadly challenges of them all. Still, that paternal instinct that ran through his veins, Techno had found, was strong. 

“Why are you defending ‘em, anyway?” Someone else from the crowd called out. A murmur ran through the rest of them; paranoid. Some shrank from the pool of people; maybe uncomfortable with the blatant cruelty being shown in front of them. Still, none stood with his family. 

“They’re my sons.” He declared icily. 

“Oh— so  _ you’re  _ the dirty mob fucke’.” The first man crowed. He’d gotten bolder, stepping closer to Phil. The blonde stood his ground, even after the man ventured close enough to be within arm’s reach. “Well— the hybrid one looks close enough to human— maybe,” the man had whipped out a knife before he’d even finished his last word. Phil bristled, opening his mouth to speak before the human interrupted him loudly. “maybe, if you rounded those gods’damn’d ears, he might fit in. Hell— if you’re too scared, I’ll do it for ya’!” 

He moved to push past the blonde, advancing towards Techno’s twin.

Techno shoved his way through the crowd; making it about three-fourths of the way in, before Phil acted.

The fabric of his cloak snapped with the outburst, sudden movement causing the cloth to contort as large, dark wings spread out from behind his father. 

“Don’t take a step forward.” His whisper was only audible to Techno because of his sensitive hearing; but the man either heard it or had gotten the message from the appendages looming above him, since he stepped back. 

“Freak has wings!” A stray shout. Suddenly, the one shout had turned into multiple, crowd emboldened by the reactions of their fellows. 

“Techno!” Phil called over the pandemonium, catching his eyes. His hands fell from where they had been crossed, splaying out, palms towards his sons. “Go!”

He understood.

He pushed through the crowd, which had begun to surge with activity. He grabbed his twin by the collar with one hand, cloak pulled further over his face as he grabbed Tommy. Tubbo was sure to follow where they went; Tommy was less likely, if he thought their father was in danger.

“Come on.” Techno tugged on them both, pushing them ahead of them. Phil was snapping back at a few stray comments sent towards them, distracting anyone looking beyond the grey appendages with a snap of a wing or a ruffle of feathers. 

“Hey— what about dad—“ Tommy strained against his grip on his shoulder, trying to turn and look behind him. Techno didn’t allow it, letting go of Wilbur to keep Tommy facing forward, and wrapping an arm around Tubbo, forcing him to keep the pace.

“He’ll be fine.” Wilbur replied hoarsely. He was obviously nervous, throat scratchy in a tell Techno thought he’d abandoned from their youth. Apparently not. 

“Alleyway!” Tubbo pointed out. Techno felt the boy shudder under his arm. He turned slightly to angle them towards the crevice. It was probably the safest way to wait for their father; leaving was the best option, but the reveal of the wings had incited the crowd to grow and rage. He wasn’t sure they could go safely. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed until the crowd quieted. He’d thought he’d heard wingbeats over the din not too long after they’d left. 

At some point, the four had crept together, quietly seeking each other. Tommy and Tubbo were already attached at the hip; practically twins themselves. The true pair of twins had gravitated towards each other in an unspoken agreement. Techno crouched and watched the mouth of the alleyway; occasionally directing them to silence. Wilbur kept the two younger boys busy, not letting them fall victim to their own thoughts.

Techno blinked out of his reverie when a shadow was cast over them. Leaning over the space between buildings, a shadowed face stared down at them. The shadow fell quickly to be cast from the figure at the entrance as the person dropped, seemingly taking no harm from the fall. 

Part of that might have had to do with the wings spread from the man’s back.

“Dad.” Wilbur breathed. Before he could even get up, the youngest blonde and brunette ran forward, almost tackling their father with the force of their embrace. 

“Aw, mates.” Phil sighed, almost a coo as he wrapped an arm around each of them. Techno stood more cautiously with his twin, moving forward with the other brunette when a simple ‘come here’ gesture beckoned them forward. Techno sighed, though he relented to the hug a moment after Wilbur did. 

“Good job.” Their father praised, beaming at them. When he pulled away slightly to look at them, Techno could just make out a few scraggly lines of red across his face; a couple rapidly bruising patches. 

But nothing too damaging. 

“Good job?” Tommy gaped. “I— I pulled off Wilbur’s beanie in the middle of the city— I fuckin’ caused a riot—“

“And you left when I told you to.” Phil rebutted. “Accidents happen. Hell— I had even forgotten. But it worked out, yeah? Now, we just have’ta get out of here.”

Their father jerked, arms around his sons tightening for a moment before they fell, lax. 

Techno stepped back and watched, alarmed, as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward. 

“Hey—“

“What the fuck—“

“Phil?”

Techno stood silent over the clamor, eyes drawn to the entrance Phil had been blocking. A pin stuck from in between his father’s wings, thin vial stuck to it emptied into his back. At the mouth of the space stood two men, one sporting a modified crossbow, loading up another dart. 

“Get out of the way!” Techno shouted, pushing his brothers back. They stumbled with the shove, though it allowed Techno to block the vial shot towards them with a smack of his hand to its side. It shattered against the stone of the building to his left with an alarming burst of particles that dissipated into the air.

“Don’t get hit.” The rosette warned them. Footsteps behind him, unrecognizable, caused him to turn on his heels, pulling out his blade from its sheath. Climbing up from the gate separating one half of the alley was a third man, brandishing a real crossbow. Bolts and all. “Fuck— go, go!” 

One bolt whizzed past him, barely blocked by his sword.

“Don’t damage it, damn idiot!” A gruff voice shouted from behind him. Techno advanced on the man hanging from the fence, sword held out in front of him. The sounds of scuffling and muffled cursing was sounding behind him; defense lessons coming in handy.

“‘M trying not to; it can use a fuckin’ sword!” The ‘damn idiot’ in question shrieked back.

“Tech’!” Tommy yelped. A pinch in his upper arm accompanied the shriek. He felt sluggish when he pulled out the needle. His vision swam in front of his eyes. The pincer attack had proved too effective; no armor, enclosed space, people to worry about, and, the most irritating bit, drugs. His heart sank.

He managed a single slash; feeling it slice flesh before his legs crumpled beneath his weight and his head hit the floor. 

—

“—and whatt’wedo with this one? Ho’re we supposed to tie this  _ thing _ up?”

He groaned. Fuzzy words were starting to take shape around him. He caught the last end of one sentence, the next coming to him more clearly. Techno’s eyes cracked open. He could see them barely in the image of some rusted-over mirror, red and tired. His head was pounding, and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from the reflective surface. He muffled a cough, feeling the air from his exhale brush back against his lips; restrained by the band of cloth tied to his mouth, wrapped twice; probably to avoid the sharpened, tusk like teeth that grew from it. 

Feeling was slowly returning to his body. He wiggled his fingers and toes, ignoring the horrible prickly feeling that shot through them at the action. He opened his eyes again, tilting his head so he could look back. Stone floor greeted the edges of his vision; what he was lying on, then. Upside down, a few figures came into focus, shifting until their image cleared. 

“Gods if I know— I don’t want to damage the merchandise  _ too _ much— who knows what those beauties might get us eh? Might just have to get a couple to hold him back, he’s not too big of a fella’.”

His head lolled slowly to where he’d figured the first voice had come from. Hanging limply over his and another’s arm was his father. Blonde hair hung into his eyes, wings totally spread and still over his body. Even in unconsciousness, he wasn’t making it easy for their captors; while Phil wasn’t particularly tall or weighty, his wings were an added mass that only increased the difficulty in carrying him. 

He blinked slowly. Some kind of ringing in his ears had blocked out the rest of the conversation; it dulled somewhat, allowing him to hear the shrill squawks of another.

“Hey— what the fuck do you think you’re doing, that’s my dad, arseholes— don’t you dare come over here you bloody  _ prick _ I’ll bite your fucking arm off don’t fucking touch—“

“Yeah— uh, yeah that’s right you little  _ bitches _ .” Tubbo swore vehemently, caught up in the blonde’s storm of commotion.

A shout broke the clamor. Techno watched, disconnected, as Tommy delivered on his promise and chomped right down on the reaching arm. 

“Gods— fucking, damnit!” The man yelled, clutching the arm. It was dripping blood; a savage bite indeed then. With crimson dripping from his mouth, the blonde looked a bit feral, hair hanging into his eyes. “You’re sure this one isn’t some kind o’— fucking, devil hybrid!”

“Yeah, fuckin’ get ‘em! Mess ‘em up!” Tubbo cheered.

“I’m sure. Doesn’t have pointy ears, pointy teeth, or—“ the one who had first complained about carrying the avian hybrid grimaced, shifting the weight in his arms.  _ “—wings.” _

“Just give both little monsters a gag or something.” The other carrier suggested.

“Ohohoho, you can try, little dick man,” Tommy proclaimed. “you can fucking try it!”

The three of them glanced between each other; each apparently, individually decided that that was a problem they could deal with later. 

Each of them looked away; finding something else to do, probably. 

He locked eyes with one of them.

“One of the pigs’is awake.” The bitten one observed; Techno really needed to give them names. He decided on one for the black-haired one in front of him; Teeth. The other two were to be determined. 

“Yeah?” The first to have spoken piped up. That one was Crooked; if only because of the way he leant, all bent to one side. “Good thing; startin’ to think we were gonna have to throw one of the munchkins in.”

“Still time.” Teeth grumbled. 

“Hey now.” Grey chided. He was older than the other two; still as bulky, apparently. He let the rest of the blonde’s weight fall into Crooked’s arms as he stalked forward, ignoring the grunt of complaint. “We’ve got a whole haul.”

Techno curled up slightly as the man made to lift his arm. He paused for only a moment before continuing, showing off the myriad of scares made visible by his torn sleeve. 

“I mean, look at this one.” He admired aloud, ignoring the warning snarl the rosette made audible. “All scarred up; but still alive. A fighter, for sure then. Practically made for the pit.” The other two grumbled their assent in what was almost deference, falling quiet. 

“Gods— need to wash up. Who knows what dirty fuckin’ things these creatures have on ‘em, huh?” He grinned, jovial. “Get this one up. We have a show on in a few. Just get somebody else to hold our birdy, and try and silence the two squawkers. If the brown-haired one wakes up, put him in the dropper too, huh?”

Technoblade was anything but stupid. Hybrid trafficking systems, fighting rings; it had always been lurking in the back of his mind when they’d come to the city. They’d kept hidden, however, careful in their business; and they’d avoided the unwanted attention. Even though his head still buzzed unusually, his thoughts were beginning to run at their usual speed as he was hoisted up by the tie binding his elbows together, frog marched to the stairs that continued below them. They were going to make him fight. Make him fight others like him; possibly his brothers. He felt sick at the very thought.

He could refuse, though.

Or, at least, he thought he could. 

He was shoved into a small room; pistons fired to let them in, heavy pressure plates on the outside only, and iron bars covering the far edge. As soon as he felt his restraints slack, cut by a sharp edge, he turned and lunged for his captor, only to be cut off by the hissing of redstone, door closing shut and flush to the wall as Teeth leapt back to avoid him. 

His chest heaved with fury. Pink strands of hair had fallen out of his braid and into his eyes during the jump; he pushed them away, tucking them back into the mass. The hybrid took in his surroundings; immediately to his left, a shield. A rusty helmet and a heavy, dented chestplate. To his right, a sword. It was golden; for a moment it enchanted him. He found himself picking it up before he even realized what he was doing. Techno turned it over in his hand, frowning at the dents along the edge and the dullness of the blade itself. 

An experimental twirl of it with his wrist showed how unbalanced it was. He grimaced. He wouldn’t be needing it anyway, he figured.

He only lifted his head when the bars in front of him began to click and whirr open, exposing the sand and packed dirt of what he’d assumed to be the arena floor before him.

The venue was obviously lowkey; underground, secretive. Still, the walls were high, and smooth; plated with rusted iron. Too high for him to climb out of eith any ease. Chairs were littered around the circular enclosement, along with people, sitting or standing, whispering to each other in their little groups.

Techno figured they didn’t need to keep it hidden; which was why it was probably so packed. The crowd didn’t look especially pleasant, but he figured nobles at least needed to  _ look _ like they didn’t associate with the blatant racism abundant in the city. He wouldn’t have doubted that some were within the masses, disguised and anticipatory. 

The bars had opened up just enough for him to be able to duck under. He didn’t move though. Each alcove — four of them, Techno counted, making a perfect x when drawn across the center of the ring — had a small portion covered in shadow. Even from where he was, opposite of another short tunnel and small room, he could see something. Pacing, stalking in the dark.

Impatient.

He left only when the bars had completely retracted and the walls began to hum concerningly. He left the sword and the items behind, stepping out into the light.

The lights turned off, plunging the room into darkness for a mere moment. The whispers and giggles and flowing bets were stemmed and stifled by the sudden action, before the glow slammed back onto the ring, blinding. Techno raised an arm to cover his eyes, peering up at where a secondary spotlight had appeared. 

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we bring to you a horrendous beast; something that will make you shudder and hold tight to your loved one’s bosom!” Grey announced, grinning. “Please, cast your gaze, and your bets, though it might be hard, on the hybrid monster birthed from the bowels of the Nether hellscape— the Piglin!”

The light shined solely on him for a moment, as he peered from under his arm. He shrunk away from it for a moment before straightening, letting his arm fall.

He heard a single cry before the crowd erupted in excited chatter. Techno watched coins be passed between humans, a stray emerald making its way into the hands of a villager. 

“Exotic, isn’t it?” Grey’s voice lacked the pleasant richness of any normal announcer; instead, gravel wracked his tone, something that made Techno’s hairs stand instinctively on end. “A fighter too, I’m sure you all can recognize; look at those scars!”

He felt exposed under the light. Sets of unwanted eyes fell upon him, turning their entire attentions towards him.

He swallowed.

“And on the other side; a hybrid turned animal — though, what’s the difference — our very own Fiend!”

Fiend turned out to be some kind of creeper hybrid, based on how they hissed. They kept pacing back and forth; waiting for something, obviously. They barely kept themselves from throwing their body forward; lunging. They bore a sword, unlike him; though it was sharpened, iron compared to what would’ve been his gold. 

“Bets in?” He asked around. “Alright, then. Let’s see what blood the beasts will spill!”

With those words the hybrid launched themselves forward. Techno simply dodged. He had no desire to fight the hybrid; let alone when they seemed so broken. There was nothing but animalistic urge in foggy eyes. He had to wonder how long they’d been there. 

He couldn’t tell what characteristics they shared with their mob genes; the hissing was prominent, as were the sharp black claws. They moved silently. But there was no way of telling if they possessed any more explosive traits.

Their dance continued; Techno dodged and weaved between their attacks, faster than the silent killer.

They lunged.

Techno saw an opportunity. 

He had been nearly backed against a wall; when they lunged, he moved, and they collided against the rusted iron, dropping the gleaming blade. Techno pinned them, careful of the sharp nails and snapping teeth. 

The crowd watched with bated breath.

But Techno did not end it. 

He simply waited, staring up at Grey.

A challenge.

Fiend was foaming at the mouth below them, clawing at the dirt, the only thing available to their pinned hands. 

“Is the Piglin _ playing _ with its prey? Is this the cruelty of an abomination?” Grey wondered aloud, suggesting the idea to the dimming crowd. He was obviously trying to save the situation as they grew less excited; bloodthirsty, but bored, bemused. 

“I won’t do it.” 

“What?” 

“I won’t kill them.” Techno repeated. The crowd stopped. Even Fiend had somewhat stilled beneath him. He delighted silently in how red the man’s cheeks turned. 

Grey turned to the side, speaking to one of his henchmen. His whispers were inaudible. 

“I know why this little mob won’t fight!” Grey announced. He grinned, turning back to the audience with a reassuring hand out. “It thinks that we’re not challenging it! Not big enough game.”

“Now, I was saving this for later,” The ringleader chuckled. He tugged something from the side in front of him. He forced the man he’d pulled to kneel in front of him with a harsh hand on his shoulder. “but, as many of you may not know,” he grunted as he moved, grabbing at the base of the blonde’s hair and wrenching his head back. It bared Techno’s father’s throat, causing him to arch his back in a way Techno just knew hurt the wings bound tightly to him. The knife held to the pulsing throat had the piglin hybrid stilling any movement. 

“Piglins, are naturally bloodthirsty! But they’re egotistical, ironically. I mean, really, they’re just glorified barn animals. But they  _ love _ to kill.” Grey stated, grinning at Techno. “In fact; they often deny kills if they think they weren’t hard enough to defeat. But lookie here, huh? A  _ prime _ ” the man tugged his captive’s head back again. Phil didn’t make a sound. “avian hybrid. A fighter, too. I bet he wants to kill this one, huh? Why, I’m sure he’d want to slaughter all the mobs in the whole damn arena to get to this one, right?” The hidden message was clear in Grey’s gaze.

Techno swallowed against the lump in his throat. 

“Well. This one obviously wasn’t difficult enough for our squealing friend.” He continued. “So— let’s send some appetizers before the main course, eh?”

The other two alcoves opened with a grating grinding noise. Out of each stepped a man, each smirking. The both of them advanced towards the two. Techno couldn’t move; both too occupied pinning down the again struggling hybrid beneath him and frozen by the sight of the blade still held against his father’s neck.

They motioned for him to release the other hybrid. After a moment’s hesitation, he did, stepping back quickly to avoid the swinging claws.

They turned out to not be a problem for much longer.

One pulled out his sword, and with a horrible  _ schkk _ plunged into Fiend’s chest. They gurgled, clutching at the handle of the blade.

Techno felt sick.

His protest died on his tongue. There was no saving Fiend; they didn’t even attempt to cling onto life. There was something grotesquely peaceful about the way they slumped. Almost relieved.

His breath was coming too shallow.

The men dragged Fiend back to their opened alcove. It shut behind them with a horrible screech.

A few moments of silence passed.

The bars had shut again. They opened.

A horde of mobs stumbled through. They groaned, shuffling.

Techno bent to pick up the iron sword, wiping the blood on the flat of it off onto his pant leg. He spun it expertly. This one was better. Less unwieldy than the first one. They had set him up to lose.

He wasn’t going to.

Techno spied a gap behind the horde. 

He leapt forward.

To fight.

—

The mobs hadn’t relented after the first horde; easily dispatched, much to the entertainment of his audience, they had kept coming, each alcove spitting out a few. He had stopped responding to the taunts of Grey when a thin line of red was drawn across his father’s throat. He no longer paid attention to it.

All he saw was red.

His chest heaved. Techno knew, from his orientation, he was looking down towards the ground, half-bent in exhaustion. But it felt like he was tethered to his body by a string. At some point, fighting the monsters had become instinct. There was no strategy involved; only slaughter.

It was too easy.

He coughed a breath into his arm. It was easy, sure, but the sheer masses of them and how there was nearly not a moment between each wave meant his chest was aching, sword arm hanging dangerously low to where it had started proper before. He didn’t know how long it had been. 

The grating of the iron no longer piqued his interest. 

A single figure stumbled out of the arena’s door. Techno could see, from the top-half of his vision, red sneakers. A stone sword, a lopsided iron helmet shoved haphazardly onto blonde hair. The mob shook, sword hanging loose in its hand.

Techno straightened. He pushed his bangs out of his eyes. They had been plastered against his face, some mixture of sweat and blood; not his own. That of the mobs surrounding him. He flipped his sword where it had been pointing at the ground behind him. He leveled it with the mob, who was unmoving.

The rhythm of the pit thrummed through his blood. He waited.

“This little scamp of an opponent is a mob-sympathizer!” Boos. Grey grinned. Techno watched, dispassionate as he spoke. The cruel ringleader angled his father’s head towards the pit. Techno wondered why he suddenly thrashed as he set eyes on the rosette’s enemy, and why the distraught expression he wore resonated with him so. “Despicable, huh? Looks like this mob is going to dispatch him for his troubles!”

The mob didn’t run after him, like the rest did.

He raised his gaze to meet the mob.

Blue eyes met him back, wide and gleaming. Techno watched as nerves quickly turned steely. The mob clutched his sword in two hands, shifting his weight. He had a sword.

But Techno had a sword, too. 

And voices demanding blood.

The mob made the first move. The hybrid watched as the blonde began running towards him. His form was sloppy, but determination creased brows. Brows that were too human. Techno ducked and parried the blow easily, watching the sword slide off his own, unfazed. He struck back.

The mob barely skidded out of the way in time, moving back due to the force of his returning strike.

“Wait— c’mon, please, I don’t want to fight you—“ the blonde pleaded.

Techno ignored the voice, even if it stirred something below his conscious. 

The mob wasn’t attacking anymore; he was dodging, sword held only to block the blows that the hybrid rained down lazily upon him. There was no effort to the pattern of strikes Techno laid upon him; there was no reason to. The mob would fall and be ground, eventually, like the rest had been under his heel.

He was getting annoyed. The mob seemed to know at least somewhat his pattern; his dodges were too easy, almost practiced. It was irritating.

“Fight.” He felt the gravel snap from his mouth, a low rumble that barely resembled a word. The mob quivered slightly, before regaining some of the fire in his belly he’d stoked before.

“No— come on, man! Big guy, Te—“ he had to cut himself off to avoid the long sweep of sharp iron crossing his body, jumping back. It left the opportunity for Techno to leap forward.

He shoved the mob over, knocking the wind out of him, watching as he fell. The way the boy shuddered and clawed at the ground, clutching for breath, reminded him of the creeper-hybrid he’d dispatched earlier. He felt little pity for them both.

He dropped into a crouch, observing how the thing struggled to breathe. His sword hung loosely over one leg as he contemplated the mob.

“Finish it!” A bet holder, rich and grinning,

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” The crowd, frothing at the mouth.

Anticipatory, victorious silence from Grey.

“No!  _ Techno, stop!”  _ His little brother’s best friend, sobbing from across the arena. Practically his little brother too.

“Don’t you dare—  _ snap out of it!”  _ A scream from his twin, next to Tubbo, tears tracking down his face.

The horrible thrash of bound wings as his father tried desperately to escape the hold that kept him from his sons.

Ragged, gasping gulps of air. Tommy.

Tommy.

Some red haze cleared from his vision. The arena seemed brighter, louder; he squeezed his eyes shut against it. He could feel the bright blue gaze still on him, tearing through the layers of blood and instinct that had accumulated over him. 

“Tec’—‘hhno.” The word was broken. He might have hit his little brother a bit too hard. Sparring practice; know your own strength, don’t fight to hurt. Where had that memory gone? It had gone fighting and lunging against the ropes that had pulled it down, down, down, burying it deep below him. 

He opened his eyes.

The boy beneath him pressed against the dirt; trying to get up. A palm over his chest stopped him, guiding him back against it with a gentle pressure.

Techno crouched over him, blocking his chest from view. For the first time, he did not sweep his bangs away from his face, behind his ear. Those would open a line of sight to his mouth.

“Pretend.” He hissed.

He brought his sword down, but not on his brother. Crimson erupted across them. Tommy jerked reflexively as the spray of blood darkened his shirt, turning white scarlet and red deeper.

His arm stung; but it looked exactly as though a gaping chest had leaked onto his sleeve, instead of the long cut that newly ruined it instead.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak; but apparently the instructions he’d been given registered a moment later.

He moved; once, twice, struggled; went slack. 

Even though he’d been the one to gain a new scar from the pit, a spike of fear shot through him.

He removed himself from his brother as the guards came through, pretending to shake off the blood from himself. 

“No— Tommy, no,  _ no—“ _ The response was guttural. Tubbo and Wilbur cried out in unison, though their pleas for the opposite of what they had been tricked to believe was the outcome were shifted slightly, overlapping horribly. He could not see them; but he could hear them cry for their brother.

Techno stuffed it down.

Another thing to compartmentalise.

He made the mistake of looking to his father.

The fight had left him somewhat deadened; he slumped forward, allowed the bare mercy of grief against his bindings. His brows were set, mouth tight against the gag; but it was the wetness shining on his face, the small convulsions that wracked his body that made Techno look away; guilty without fault.

The iron bars ground shut.

He waited.

Whatever he’d been waiting for wasn’t what came next.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting; but his pale, blood-soaked figure of a brother wrenching Grey’s body back and away from their father was not it. The knife slipped from his grip, leaving a shorter, thinner streak of red below the initial one. More importantly, the blade landed at such an angle that the older blonde sliced the bonds of his arms against it; cutting through the tight fabric. The gag was the next thing to go; the wings after that. He slipped out of the cloth on his legs, no longer kneeling.

Even though it was not directed at him, Techno shrunk away at the pure fury in his posture. Dark wings spread out.

Phil took Grey from Tommy’s grip. He hoisted him up; his father wasn’t the tallest man, but the ringleader was shorter, and no match for the vengeful adrenaline he was sure rushed through his veins.

The crowds had begun to disperse when Tommy sliced free his brothers; leaving a force of guards, those loyal enough, or stupid enough, to stand with Grey, and the family. 

The hoarseness of his father’s voice surprised him.

“Death is not enough for you.” 

Phil smiled.

“But it’s a start.”

The blade that had been held against his throat a moment earlier had made it into the blonde’s hand. With a movement so quick, Techno almost couldn’t track it, it had sunken into Grey’s chest, leaving a misshapen circle of red to wet his clothes.

Phil dropped him; disgusted.

The roughness of the sword’s grip was still biting into his hand when his father wrested it from him. Techno wasn’t sure how long he had watched from afar, hand-white knuckled on the blade, before his father had flown down, brothers scurrying behind him, the small legion of guards scattered motionless among the stands. 

He heard it clatter onto the floor when his father threw his arms around him, sinking to the floor with him as he collapsed. 

“Oh, Tech’.” Phil crooned sadly. “Gods— what’ve they done to you mate. My son.” 

Techno felt a hand card through his hair; gentle, repetitive motions taking his attention away from the pain of his arm being examined. He opened one eye halfway to peer at it. Maybe he’d gone overboard.

“Find the things— Tubbo, Wilbur —and meet us back here. Burn this hellhole; I want it lit like the Nether.”

He vaguely recognized the orders being given and carried out. Mostly his attention was focused on the two blondes above him; wondering if it was his brother and dad, or just one displayed twice across his blurry vision. 

His wonder was answered quickly enough when a second set of arms was thrown over him. He leaned into the touch, humming at it. 

“Fuck.” The younger cursed. “Gods— fucking  _ damnit.” _

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled. The sadness in his little brother’s voice made his body feel like it was falling out of him; separating and drifting. 

“No— no, it was my fault—“

“‘S not, ‘s’okay.” He interrupted.

“Oka—“ he paused. “Okay. It’s okay.” He repeated.

“Mhmm.” Techno rasped in response.

It smelled like a bonfire.

He barely registered being picked up — cloak tossed over him, shirt sleeve torn and bound to his arm — and walked out of the building. 

A comforting assurance made it through the haze every now and again. But otherwise, it was just a buzz that resonated through his skull; not unpleasant, but insistent by nature. 

It made him unbelievably drowsy.

He yawned.

“Hey— it’s okay. You can sleep. We have you.” 

He blinked, staring up at his father for a moment.

It didn’t last long before he closed his eyes again, succumbing to the heaviness of his eyelids.

—

Techno woke up in a cold sweat. He winced against the pain shooting through his arm as he shot up, glancing around the room. His vision was blurry for a moment, before he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

“You’re up.” Someone observed. He turned to face them. Tommy was half-hunched over, awe on his face. “Hey— hey, he’s up!” He yelled over his shoulder, towards the door and the stairs Techno knew laid beyond them.

“Soon as I step out too.” His dad grinned, leaning against the doorway. In his hands, he held two steaming mugs. He offered one to Techno as he came in. He accepted, bathing his face in the vapor of the tea, inhaling the warmth. “How’ya feeling, mate?”

Techno blinked.

“Eh,” his voice was rougher than he remembered. He coughed against it briefly. “pretty alright.”

“Wh—“ Tommy stammered. “Pretty  _ alright, _ you fucking sliced yourself on a sword!”

The memories were coming back, slipping through his poorly constructed walls.

“Yeah.” He acknowledged, sipping his tea.

Tommy waited for an answer that never came.

“Wilbur should be up in a mom’—“ the slamming of a door interrupted his father.  _ “—yep.  _ Hey— don’t slam the doors!”

Running sounded up the stairs. Wilbur stood at the doorway, one hand pressed against it, out of breath. Behind him stood Tubbo, peering around the corner.

“Hey! Look who’s awake!” His twin grinned. “You are  _ so _ fucking dead.” He swore.

“Hey— no he’s not.” His dad refuted, crossing his ankles.

“He made me worry out of my fucking mind!”

“Me too— I’m not gonna  _ kill  _ him for it—“ Phil paused.  _ “—yet.” _ He finished slowly.

“Hey.” Tubbo chimed in. He’d slipped in beneath Wilbur’s arm, coming to sit next to Tommy. 

“Helloo.” Techno deadpanned back.

“Are we— are we really not going to talk about this?” Tommy asked, stuttering slightly.

“Uh—“

“Hm—“

“Why—“

“Nope.” Techno finished for his brothers and father, setting his tea on his lap.

“We will.” His father amended. “Just not now.” He grinned.

“Exactly. Thanks, dad.”

Silence.

A far too wide smile.

“Did you just call me  _ dad—“ _

**Author's Note:**

> ta da!
> 
> Humor at the end that’s my thing  
> if you enjoyed this please leave a comment! or if you want to see more or have thoughts please request something on my request book! :>>
> 
> anyway, as always, wherever you are, have a nice day!


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